If any old housemates decide to read this... eh, I got nothing.

Of his own team, it was only the Demoman who noticed something was wrong. As they all waited in the resupply room for the day's fighting to begin he took a good long look at the Spy, and then said, 'You all right there, lad? Yer looking a little peaky.'

The Spy just waved him away with a muttered, 'Didn't sleep much last night.' Which was true. A grin spread across the Scotman's face and he gave the Spy what was probably meant to be a friendly wink, though it was hard to tell with a man with just one eye. And that was it. Nobody else on his team noticed anything off with him at all. Not even the Medic.

Demoman's lewd assumptions were correct, the Spy had been rather preoccupied that night by a strikingly beautiful stranger he'd bumped into in town. At least, he thought she must have been pretty... She'd looked-looked like- just beautiful. He was sure. He just couldn't remember. Apart from her blue eyes. The brightest blue eyes. Shining impossibly bright in that darkened hotel room. Such wonderful eyes. The type you could get yourself lost in for centuries. Filling his vision. Mesmerising. The brightest blue eyes.

They'd made love all night long. Or at least, they'd done something. Must have done, to leave him feeling so tired and drained. Not to mention, stiff-limbed and bruised. Yes, she'd sure been a wild one, that lady with the bright blue eyes. The Spy just wished he could remember more, that was all. He must have had too much to drink. That was the most likely explanation for his fragmented memories. Except, that just wasn't the Spy's style. And he knew from personal experience that that amount of alcohol certainly wasn't good for his performance in the bedroom. Then again, it'd explain his awful headache, as well as why he'd woken up alone. The pretty stranger probably wouldn't have wanted to risk sticking around for another disappointment. It was very embarrassing to think about.

But they must have managed something that night. He wouldn't have ended up with bruises and bites otherwise. Hell, things must have got pretty heated if the blood on his neck was anything to go by. The Spy wouldn't have let anybody bite him that hard if he hadn't been really into it at the time.

Whatever had happened last night was of no lasting importance. Once he'd returned to the base, the masked agent had done his best to try and focus on the coming match. A distracted spy was a dead spy, and he wasn't going to allow a little thing like a drunken one night stand get in the way of him doing his job properly. That'd be unprofessional.

The problem was though, he seemed to have caught a cold the night before. Or maybe the flu. It was just unfortunate timing really. It made concentrating on anything even more difficult than last night's muddled memories. The Spy's head just wouldn't stop spinning, his throat felt like sandpaper and his joints ached. Even his jaw hurt, though he had no idea why that should be. But none of that was anything as bad as the heat. It was like someone had replaced the blood in his veins with molten magma. He burned. Everything burned. The Spy was sure the only thing stopping his tight-fitting mask from catching fire was the sweat beading under it.

The Frenchman tugged at the neck of his suit as waited for the grills to slide open and release them out into the first match of the day. When they finally did, he let the rest of the team charge out in front of them. It was only sensible. He didn't want to get in the way of the gunfire. And he was only cloaking because that was the most tactically sound thing to do, not because it was his only way of hiding how weak he was feeling. Slowly, the Spy staggered out of the resupply room. It looked like today was going to be difficult. He wasn't sure how he'd manage to get anybody with his Ambassador if he couldn't stop shaking.

Really, he'd been hoping that his first trip through respawn would clear up whatever was wrong with him. Or maybe the second. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth. By the time he stumbled out on to the battlefield for the sixth time with no kills to his name, the Spy decided to just go after an easy target. One he would probably be all alone, not moving, and completely unaware of his approach. Yes. He could do that. Even in this state the Spy was sure he could manage an easy back stab on the Sniper.

That wasn't quite how things ended up going.

Despite everything, the Spy managed to sneak up on his target without the RED Sniper noticing. It was just the back stabbing bit that went wrong. As he lifted his arm up to strike the killing blow, his vision began to waver. With it went his sense of balance, and his knife went clattering to the ground as the Spy tried his best to not follow it.

The odd noise startled the Sniper, causing him to swear and accidentally pull the trigger on his rifle. He spun around, the now empty weapon clutched in his hands like a club. He was fully prepared to use it to smash the head in of whoever was behind him, but stopped when he saw the Spy. The BLU was leaning heavily against a nearby wall, his skinny legs visibly shaking as he tried to keep himself up right. Though usually pale anyway, what little of his skin could be seen was corpse white and sweat had soaked through the brow of his mask. His knife lay at the floor by the Sniper's feet, but he made no attempt to reach it, or to get away. Even his expression was off, pained looking, rather than sneering, as it usually was when he came face to face with the Australian. There was an odd look to his eyes too that the marksman couldn't place. They looked glazed, but too bright. Shiny almost, like the Spy was on the verge of tears.

It was... odd, seeing the man like this. Unsettling almost. Spies were supposed to keep everything about themselves hidden, including weaknesses. This wasn't like his enemy at all.

'God. You look like shit, mate.'

The BLU's lips twitched into the ghost of a grimace.

'Yeah. Feel like it too,' he agreed hoarsely.

The Sniper's eyes flicked up and down the Spy's body in search of injury. There was none he could see, and no blood on the floor. It felt odd just standing and talking to the enemy, but the Australian was curious now.

'What the hell's wrong with you then?

'Don't know. Ill.'

The marksman pulled a face.

'Then you can go right back to respawn and stay there! I don't want to catch nothing off you!'

Usually this was the point at which the Spy would mock his accent and poor grammar, generally while trying to stab him. Instead the BLU just tried to straighten up. Talking took up too much energy. If he couldn't outrun the Sniper, then he'd face his next death with as much dignity as he could. Instead, the Frenchman found himself starting to slip down the wall. He glared down at his legs, silently ordering them to take his weight. He slide a little further down.

The floorboards creaked and he looked up to find the Sniper approaching him. The Spy had expected to see him with his kukri drawn or SMG levelled, but though his right hand rested lightly on his knife's handle, he didn't pull it out of its sheaf.

There was a look of wariness on the Australians face. The masked man was used to seeing that expression, along with fear, anger and hatred. But there was something else there now as well. Worry? Pity? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, the Spy didn't appreciate it. He was a dangerous assassin, not a wounded animal! He didn't need an enemy worrying about him, and he certainly didn't need the Sniper's pity.

'Now. I'll send you back to respawn, and you stay there until your Medic gets dragged through, right? No point you being out here on the field and I'm sure your doctor would want to know if there's a virus or something going around.'

His voice was soft, calm. The Spy hated it. He wanted to attack the Sniper. Wanted to remind him that they were enemies and it didn't matter what the RED said or did, the Spy would always want to kill him.

He didn't have the energy to attack. He didn't even have the energy to say something unpleasant. Or to hold on to his anger. It drained away as quickly as it had come, leaving the Spy feeling even weaker than before. It was also getting harder and harder to push out the pain. This had to be the flu, no common cold would make his joints ache, his head pound and his skin burn like this did.

A strangled little noise escaped him, one that was far too close to a whimper for him to stand. Pathetic. He was being pathetic. And in front of the enemy Sniper no less. This was humiliating.

The RED took another step closer to the Spy, his kukri still sheaved at his side. His hands were held up in front of him in a careful, pacifying manner.

'Don't. Don't you-just-stay away.'

'Hey now, gonna make this quick and clean. It's better than you trying to stagger off by yourself, trust me.'

The Spy shook his head, dark spots blurring his vision as he did so.

'No. No, just stay away.'

The Sniper was too close. Having a member of the opposite team this close was never a good thing, unless their back was turned to him. This time though, it was even worse. Something about the Australian's proximity to him made the Spy feel hotter than ever. He couldn't really explain why, but he felt like if the Sniper touched him now, one of them would get burnt. He just wasn't sure who it'd be.

The next chapters are two completely different, alternative endings to this fic as I couldn't decide which direction I wanted to take it in most.